


Stumble

by glorious_spoon



Series: Tumblr/Twitter Prompt Fic [54]
Category: Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Gen, Heart Attacks, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: In retrospect, Danny thinks he should have realized that something was actually wrong.
Relationships: Ward Meachum & Danny Rand
Series: Tumblr/Twitter Prompt Fic [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1313993
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	Stumble

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt by **Sholio** ; fulfills the 'heart attack' square on my Hurt/Comfort Bingo square.

In retrospect, Danny thinks he should have realized that something was actually wrong.

The thing is, Ward doesn’t give anything away. It’s easy to miss that, given that he can spend an entire ten-mile hike detailing complaints without ever repeating one, but—he doesn’t give away anything _real._ He can complain about the mosquitos and the terrain and the metallic undertaste of the water and the trail rations that Danny packed without ever sounding like there’s anything seriously wrong before he takes a step on the (flat, hard-packed, practically _paved)_ path, sways, stumbles, and goes down hard.

For a second, Danny actually thinks that Ward managed to trip on a tree root, despite the fact that there’s nothing of the sort anywhere to be seen. The hike itself was a bust, the hidden temple long-abandoned and grown over with greenery and cobwebs, and Danny is tired and frustrated and overheated. He can _see_ the cabin up ahead, a couple of other hikers lounging on a large boulder, chatting in Mandarin and passing a water bottle back and forth. He’s looking forward to a bath and a good dinner and it takes a moment—a long, unforgivable moment—before he realizes that Ward isn’t pulling himself up to his feet and swearing about the scuff on his pants. Before he realizes that Ward is still on his knees, sagging forward and barely catching himself with one hand. His pack slides awkwardly off of one shoulder, listing him to the side; his other hand claws at his chest.

“Ward?” Danny says stupidly.

The only answer he gets is Ward’s dragging breaths, gasping and almost panicky, and it’s only then that he realizes that something is really, truly _wrong._

He falls to his knees next to Ward, only vaguely aware that the other two hikers are jogging over. Up close, Ward looks pale and clammy, sweat standing on his skin despite the cool weather. His complexion has a grayish tinge to it.

“Ward,” Danny says again, gripping his shoulder hard. Ward fumbles for him with shaky hands, lists, and nearly falls before Danny can catch him. He tugs the backpack loose before Ward can get any more tangled up in it, tosses it aside. His hands are patting over Ward like he’s going to find a sudden injury or a poison dart, or—something. Something that could explain this. “Ward, what’s wrong?”

“Chest,” Ward gasps. “Hurts,” and when Danny presses a hand over his heart he feels it pounding fast and uneven, a galloping stutter under his palm, and then there are footsteps approaching and a woman’s voice overhead asking him in careful English if his friend needs an ambulance.

“Yeah,” Danny replies in Mandarin, “yeah, please, he needs help, please—” he can hear her pulling out her phone, dialing and speaking rapidly into it, but all of his attention is tied up with Ward, shuddering beneath his hands. That means that he feels it when Ward’s heart speeds up, then slows, then stops; when Ward gasps raggedly like he’s choking, his eyes rolling back so that there are only slits of white visible as he sags backward onto the dusty trail.

* * *

“The doctor says you had a heart attack,” Danny informs Ward the moment he opens his eyes in the cardiac center, eight excruciating hours later. Outside the window, the city is dark; it has to be well past midnight. Danny is jittering on cheap oversteeped tea and honestly unsure if he’s ever going to sleep again. “She says you were lucky that we were so close to the city. She says that if we’d been all the way back up in the mountains that you might not have—” he can’t finish. He’s having trouble keeping his eyes off the heart monitor, the green line rising and falling in jagged spikes.

Ward closes his eyes again. He actually looks worse now than he did out on the trail: wan and drained, with deep thumbprints of bruises under his eyes. “Huh.”

“ _Huh_ , really?” Danny asks him. He is aware that he probably shouldn’t be berating Ward right now, but there’s a thrum of panic still beating against his ribcage, the fluttering echo of Ward’s uneven heartbeat in his hands, and his mouth keeps talking without his conscious direction. “Ward, why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t feeling okay?”

“I _did_ tell you that,” Ward retorts crankily.

"...Yeah," Danny says after a moment, because, well, he did, didn't he? "I'm sorry."

Ward opens his eyes just enough to squint at him. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," Danny protests. He rubs his hands on his knees, then says, "I told the doctor you didn't take any medications."

"Not legally, anyway," Ward agrees, letting his eyes slide shut.

Danny resists the urge to shake him with an effort. He knows how Ward is when he's hurting. Snippy and irritable on the surface, all those layers of misdirection to hide any sign of vulnerability. It's not that the sharp edges aren't real, but it's easy to get so caught up in avoiding them that you miss anything else. The worst thing is, he doesn't even think it's entirely on purpose. It’s instinct for Ward, not to let anyone in. Not to let anyone see when he’s in pain.

“Yeah, I mentioned that,” he says, and gets a glare, which he returns with interest. “I’m not sorry, either. Apparently it’s not that normal for a healthy 32-year-old to have a massive coronary out of nowhere. They wanted to know if you had an underlying condition.”

“Other than the heroin.”

“Yeah,” Danny says. There’s a twisting lump lodged in the back of his throat, that part of him that wishes he could go back in time and shake Ward, drag him off that terrible path with all the damage he wrought to himself and to everyone around him. Or maybe just punch Harold in the face a few times. Instead, he reaches for Ward’s cold hand, squeezes hard. Ward’s face is slack, expressionless in a way that seems more exhaustion than his usual wariness, but he squeezes back. “You’ll be in here for a couple more days. The doctor should be by in a little while.”

“Are you planning on sticking around to translate?”

“We’re an hour outside of Shanghai. She speaks better English than you do.”

“Hm,” Ward mumbles. His fingers twitch in Dannys, but he makes no move to pull away.

 _Oh_ , Danny thinks, getting it. He squeezes Ward’s hand again. “Ward, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Course not,” Ward mumbles, but he doesn’t let go.


End file.
